“Meaning you.”
“And I’m your foolproof machine for detecting life?”
“Let’s say you’re the closest we can come to it at present. We’re banking everything on this first trip. It’ll be at least eighteen [91] ]months later before we can get a second ship into space. So it’s up to you to get everything you can … some evidence of life, preferably animal, if possible. With public support it’ll be a hell of a lot easier squeezing appropriations out of Congress for the next ship and to get public support we need the biggest possible play in the newspapers. If anything is newsworthy on Mars it should be evidence of life … even plant life.”
So here he was, 105 pounds of concentrated knowledge and anticipation, itching with the desire for action and also from more basic causes having to do with two months confinement in a small space with a minimum of water.
“Life is most probable at the poles
,” the instructor had said. “You won’t be able to stay long so we’ll try to set you down right at the South Pole. You won’t have room to bring back specimens. So keep your eyes open and absorb everything you see. Don’t forget anything. What you bring back in your mind weighs nothing.”
“It’s just sitting there,” the observing banks reported, “and the red flame has gone out.”
“Is it safe now?” enquired the speculative bank.
“In what way?”
“Is it safe to go near that thing?”